by J. R. Ward
“Good. How’d you fare, Blay?”
“Just a surface wound on my arm.”
That it? Tohr thought. Because the fucker looked a little hollow—then again, it had been a long night and day for everyone.
“I’m glad, son. We’ll be right back.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
As John came over to the wide-open door, Tohr stepped aside, and then followed him in.
“How you doing, son?” Wrath asked as the kid approached him and bent down to kiss his ring.
As John signed, Tohr translated, “He says just fine. He says… if it would not offend, he has something he and Blay need you to know?”
“Yeah, sure. G’head.”
“He says… he was with… Qhuinn at the house… after you were shot, before the Brotherhood arrived.… Qhuinn went out alone.… ah, Blay spoke with the guy a little while ago. Blay said that… Qhuinn told him he’d engaged with… Xcor… so that—wait, John, slow down. Thanks… Okay, engaged with Xcor… so that you could get free in the van—”
Beth stirred, her eyes opening, her brows tightening as if she were catching the drift of the conversation.
“Are you serious?” the king blurted.
“He took on… Xcor… one-on-one—” Holy shit, Tohr thought. He’d heard the kid had gone out there, but that was it.
Wrath whistled under his breath. “That’s a male of worth, right there.”
“Wait, John, let me catch up. One-on-one… so that Xcor, who was waiting to attack the van, was neutralized.… He—John, that is—wants to know if there is some kind of official recognition that… you can give Qhuinn? Something to recognize… his above-and-beyond… service? And P.S.,” Tohr spoke for himself, “me, personally? I’m so on board with that.”
Wrath stayed quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry, let me get this straight. Qhuinn went out after the brothers arrived, right?”
Tohr got back with the translating. “John says no. It was on his own, unguarded, unprotected before they came. Qhuinn said… he had to do what he could to make sure you were okay.”
“That dumb-ass idiot.”
“Hero is more like it,” Beth said abruptly.
“Leelan, you wake.” Wrath became instantly focused on his mate. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Believe me, just hearing your voice is heaven… you can wake me up with it anytime.” She kissed his mouth softly. “Welcome back.”
Both Tohr and John got busy looking at the floor as tender words were exchanged.
Then the king came back online. “Qhuinn shouldn’t have done that.”
“I agree,” Tohr muttered.
The king focused on John. “Yeah, all right. We’ll do something for him. I don’t know what… but that kind of shit is epic. Stupid, but epic.”
“Why don’t you make him a Brother,” Beth interjected.
In the silence that followed, Wrath’s mouth dropped open, and it was a join-the-club reaction—Tohr’s jaw did likewise, and so did John’s.
“What?” the queen said. “Doesn’t he deserve it? Hasn’t he always been there for everyone? And he’s lost all his family—yes, he lives here, but sometimes I get the impression that he feels like he doesn’t belong. What better way of thanking him and telling him he does? I know no one doubts his strength in the field.”
Wrath cleared his throat. “Well, according to the Old Laws—”
“Fuck the Old Laws. You’re the king—you can do anything you want.”
More pin-drop silence swept in, clearing out even the sounds of the HVAC system blowing warm air through the ceiling vents.
“What do you think, Tohr?” the king asked.
As Tohr glanced at John, he was struck by how much he wanted to bestow the honor on the closest thing to a son he had. But Qhuinn was the one they were talking about.
“I think… yeah, I think it could be a good idea,” he heard himself say. “Qhuinn should be claimed, and the brothers respect him— Shit, tonight isn’t the only time he’s shined. He’s a stellar fighter, but more than that, he’s calmed down tremendously in the last year. So, yeah, I think he could handle the responsibility now, which is not something I might have said at any other time.”
“Okay, I’ll consider it, leelan. It’s a wonderful suggestion.” The king glanced back at Tohr. “Now, about that favor. Approach me, brother mine, and render thy form unto your knees—we have two witnesses now, which is even better.”
As Tohr complied and grasped the royal hand, Wrath proclaimed in the Old Language, “Tohrment, son of Hharm, are you prepared to have proscribed unto you, and you alone, the death of Xcor, son of an unknown sire, said demise to occur by your hands and your hands only in retaliation for a mortal affront against me this previous night—if said affront can be proven to be due to Xcor’s direct or indirect order?”
Placing his free hand over his beating heart, he said gravely, “I am so prepared, my lord.”
Wrath looked at his mate. “Elizabeth, blooded daughter of the Black Dagger Brother Darius, mated of myself, your king, do you hereby agree to witness my grant should I deign to bequeath it on this matter to this male, carrying forth the representation of this moment unto all others, placing also your mark upon parchment to commemorate this proclamation?” When she answered affirmatively, he regarded John. “Tehrror, blooded son of the Black Dagger Brother Darius, also known by the names John and Matthew, do you hereby agree to witness my grant should I deign to bequeath it on this matter to this male, carrying forth the representation of this moment unto all others, placing also your mark upon parchment to commemorate this proclamation?”
Tohr translated from ASL. “Yes, my lord, he does.”
“Then by the power held sure and true by myself through mine father, I hereby command you, Tohrment, son of Hharm, to go forth and perform the now royal duty of retribution on my behalf—if it is so supported by requisite proof—returning in future with the body of Xcor, son of an unknown sire, unto me as a service to your king and your race. Your pledge is a credit to your bloodline, past, present, and future.”
Once more, Tohrment bent to the ring that had been worn by generations of Wrath’s lineage. “I am, in this and all things, yours to command, my heart and body seeking only to obey your sole authority.”
When he lifted his eyes, Wrath was smiling. “I know you’ll bring that bastard home.”
“You got it, my lord.”
“Now get the fuck out of here. The three of us need some goddamn sleep.”
Various good-byes were exchanged, and then Tohr and John were out in the corridor in an awkward silence. Blay had since fallen asleep outside that other recovery room, but he wasn’t resting—there was a deep frown on his face, like he was brooding even in the midst of his REM.
A tap on his forearm had Tohr focusing on John.
Thank you, the kid signed.
“For what?”
Supporting Qhuinn.
Tohr shrugged. “Only makes sense. Shit, the number of times that guy’s thrown himself into battle with all guns blazing? He deserves it—and that Brotherhood nomination stuff shouldn’t be about bloodline, but merit.”
Do you think Wrath will do it?
“I don’t know—it’s complicated. Lot of history to deal with—the Old Laws would have to be reworded. I’m sure the king will do something for him—”
Down the corridor, No’One stepped out of a doorway, as if she had been drawn by the sound of his voice.
The instant he saw her, he lost his train of thought, everything he had locking on her robed figure. Fucking hell… he was too raw to be around her, too hungry for life-affirming contact, too disinclined to make good decisions.
God help them both, but if he walked down to her, he was going to take her.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that John was signing something.
It took every ounce of self-control to force his head toward the kid.
She was so worried about you.
She’s been waiting out here with us—she thought you had been injured.
“Oh… well, shit.”
She loves you.
Okay, well, didn’t that make him want to crap in his pants. “Nah, she’s just… you know, a compassionate person.”
John cleared his throat, even though his hands were doing the talking. I guess I didn’t know that you guys were this serious.
Thinking of how upset the kid had been, Tohr waved away the comment. “No, I mean, it’s no big deal. Honest. I know who I love—and who I belong with.”
Except that brush-off didn’t feel right, not on his tongue, not to his ears… not to the center of his chest.
I’m sorry about… you know, losing it before, John signed. It’s just… Wellsie’s the only mother I had, and… I don’t know. The idea of you with someone else makes me want to throw up—even though that’s not fair.
Tohr shook his head and dropped his voice. “Don’t you ever apologize for caring about our female. And as for the love thing, I gotta say it again. In spite of what it looks like from the outside, I will love one and only one female for the rest of my life. No matter what I do, who I’m with, or how things appear, you can take that shit to the bank, son. We clear?”
John’s rough embrace was difficult to bear—because letting down the kid had been a killer, and it was tough not to worry about doing it again in some way.
It was also hard because Tohr’s convictions were heartfelt and honest… as well as Wellsie’s doom. Weren’t they.
God, was he ever going to find a way out of this mess?
As that panicky thought occurred to him, he shifted his eyes and looked down the way to No’One’s slight, still form.
Behind her, Lassiter stepped out and just stared back at him, the disappointment in the guy’s face so apparent, it was clear he’d somehow heard what had been said.
Maybe all of it.
FORTY-FIVE
As Tohr walked off toward No’One, John resumed tending his little patch of linoleum outside of Qhuinn’s room.
On some level, he didn’t want to see the Brother go down the hall to that other female. It seemed fundamentally wrong, as if one of the laws of the universe had decided to run in reverse. Hell, paralleling it with his own life, the idea that there would ever be another female aside from Xhex for him was anathema: Even though he was in constant agony without her, he still loved her so much, he was asexual.
Then again… she was still alive.
And you couldn’t argue that the relationship hadn’t been good for Tohr. He was back to the size he’d been when John had first met him, huge, hard, and strong. And come on, he hadn’t walked into a death trap of a gunfight or leaped off a bridge in, like, months.
Good thing Qhuinn had taken up the slack on that one. Yay.
Besides, No’One was tough not to approve of: She was very nonbimbo… quiet. Unassuming. Not at all bad to look at.
There were so many worse candidates out there in the world. Gold diggers. Stuck-up glymera types. Spacy, big-breasted gigglers.
Letting his head fall back against the concrete wall, he closed his eyes as he heard the pair of them talking. Soon enough, the voices stopped and he assumed they’d taken off, likely to go to bed—
Okay, he was so not going there.
Left to his little lonesome, he listened to Blay’s soft breathing and occasional repositioning of limbs, resolutely keeping his mind off Xhex.
Funny, this stretch of wait-and-worry felt like old times… he and Blay waiting on Qhuinn.
Man, they were lucky the guy had come back alive.…
As his memory coughed up images from that mansion on the river, he saw Wrath going down to the floor, and V with his gun up to Assail’s head… and Tohr going body-shield over the king. Then he and Qhuinn were searching the house… arguing next to that sliding glass door… fighting over his best friend going out into the night, uncovered and alone.
You need to let me do what I can.
Qhuinn’s eyes had been resolute and utterly unafraid, because he knew his capabilities, knew that he could go out on a Hail Mary and rough shit up, knew that even though there was a chance he wasn’t coming home, he was strong enough and sure enough of his fighting skills that he would do everything possible to decrease that risk.
And John had let him go. Even though his heart had been screaming and his head had been ringing and his body prepared to block the way out. Even though it hadn’t just been lesser new recruits out there, but the Band of Bastards, who were highly trained, very experienced, and brutal as hell. Even though Qhuinn was his best friend, a male who mattered to him in this world, someone whose loss would rock him for life.…
Shit.
John put his palms to the front of his face and gave himself a good buffing.
Except no amount of rubbing was going to change the revelation that was creeping up on him, unwelcome and undeniable.
He saw Xhex in that meeting with the Brotherhood back in the spring, when she had offered to find Xcor’s lair: I can take care of that—especially if I hit them in the daytime.
She had been utterly hard eyed and clearheaded, sure of herself and her capabilities. You people need me to do what I can.
When it had been his best friend? He hadn’t liked it, but he’d stepped aside and let the male do what he had to for the greater good—even though there was mortal danger involved. If something had happened to the guy and he’d died? John would have been crushed… but that was the code of soldier, the code of Brotherhood.
The code of males.
Losing Xhex would be so much worse, of course, because he was a bonded male. But the reality was, in trying to save her from some violent fate, he’d lost her completely: They had nothing left, no passion, no conversation, no warmth… little contact. And it was all because his protective urge had taken over.
It was all his fault.
He had mated a fighter—and then freaked when the risk-of-injury thing had gone from the hypothetical into the actual. And Xhex was right—she didn’t want him dead or in the hands of the enemy, and yet she was allowing him to go out there every night.
She was letting him do what he could to help.
She wasn’t permitting her emotions to try to stop him from executing his job—and if she had? Well, then he would have explained patiently and with love that he was born to fight, and he was careful with himself, and…
Kettle, black, much?
Besides, how would he have felt if someone had viewed his being mute as a rate limiter for fighting? How would he have reacted if he’d been told, in spite of all his other qualifications and skills, in spite of his natural talent and instincts, that because he couldn’t speak, he wasn’t allowed on the field?
Being female was not a disability in any sense of the word. But he had treated it as such, hadn’t he. He had decided that because she was not male, in spite of all her qualifications and skills, she couldn’t go out into conflict.
As if breasts suddenly made shit more dangerous.
John restarted with the rubbing, his head beginning to thump with pressure. His bonded side was ruining his life. Strike that—it had ruined his life. Because he wasn’t sure, no matter what he did now, whether he could get Xhex back.
He was, however, certain about one thing.
Abruptly, he thought about Tohr and that oath.
And knew what he had to do.
As Tohrment walked toward her, No’One became breathless: His massive body was shifting from side to side to the rhythm of his gait, his burning eyes fixing on her as if he meant to consume her in some vital way.
He was ready to mate, she thought.
Dearest Virgin Scribe, he was coming to take her.
I want to fuck you.
Her hand went to the tie on her robe, and it was a shock to realize that she was prepared to open her clothing at this moment. Not here, she told her fingers. Somewhere else, though…
There were no thoughts of that s
ymphath, no anxiety over whether it would hurt, no sense that she might regret this. There was just a resonant peace in the midst of her body’s pounding need that this male was what she wanted; this mating was what she had waited so patiently for.
They were both ready.
Tohrment stopped in front of her, his chest pumping up and down and his hands curling into fists. “I’m going to give you the chance to get away from me. Right now. Leave the training center and I’ll stay here.”
His voice was warped, so low and deep that his words were nearly unintelligible.
Hers, on the other hand, was very clear: “I shall not depart from you.”
“Do you understand what I’m saying? If you don’t go… I’m going to be inside you in another minute and a half.”
She kicked her chin up. “I want you in me.”
A great growl rose up from him, the sort of sound that, had she heard it in another context, might have terrified her. But face-to-face with this magnificent, aroused male? Her body responded with a marvelous loosening, further preparing to accept him.
He was not gentle as he scooped down and picked her up, swinging her legs high and catching them in the crook of his arm. And he was not slow as he went forth toward the pool—as if the idea of getting them to a proper bed in the big house was simply too much to bother with.
Whilst he strode off with her captured like a prize, she stared up at his face. His brows were down hard, his mouth parted to reveal his fangs, his coloring high with anticipation. He wanted this. Needed this.
And there was no going back.
Not that she would have chosen to. She loved the way he made her feel in this moment.
Although she supposed it was treacherous to take compliment in the desperation with which he took possession of her. He was still in love with his dead mate. Then again, he did want her—and that was enough. That was, mayhap, all she would ever have—and yet, as she had told him, so much more than she could ever have prayed for.
Upon his will, the glass door to the pool’s entry hall opened wide for them, and as it eased shut in their wake, she heard its lock slip into place. Then they were traveling fast through the anteroom, and rounding the corner into the pool proper, the warmth of that thick, humid air making her body even more languid—